I wouldn't walk 500 miles.
And I wouldn't walk 500 more.
Not to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your door.

Because, well, a thousand miles is a really long way. I mean, if humans walk at around 3 mph, then that's, what, 330-odd hours of walking. Even if I walked for 12 hours a day, that's still 28 days of walking and with all the will in the world, luv, that's very unlikely to happen. Apart from anything, I only get 20 paid days off work a year, and it would use up all of them, and that means we won't be able to go to Mykonos in July. It seems—no matter how much I love you, and I really really do love you, so don't take this the wrong way—a bit of a waste of my time, and of time we could spend together on holiday in Greece.

Plus, if I was walking for a month, I'd have to either carry camping equipment which would slow me down or it'll be really expensive to pay for four weeks of hotels. If you really want me to travel a thousand miles to see you, it'd be way quicker to fly. Take the train or the car, at least. It'd only be a few hours on the plane. And I could drive it in three days or so. That'd be fine.

Aside from anything, petal, it's not possible for me to actually be a thousand miles away from you in Britain without having to cross water. Would those miles count? Or would I have to walk a thousand miles and add the ferry journey on top?

A thousand miles... that's like Helsinki, Warsaw, Vienna or something. So, my dear, light of my life, considering we're both sat here on the sofa right now, couldn't we just agree that in theory, I'd walk a thousand miles? Couldn't we agree on that? And I'll make us a cup of tea at the break. And if you want I could give you a foot rub, too.